


let this world explode

by akamine_chan



Series: The Sharpest Lives [31]
Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Community: bandom_meme, M/M, Non-Consensual Haircuts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 12:30:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4305141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/pseuds/akamine_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What the fuck happened to you?"</p><p>Poison's hand goes up before he can stop himself, rubbing at the dark fuzz on his head.  It's stupid, but he can't help feeling self-conscious about it.  "Nothing," he mumbles, shoulders hunching.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let this world explode

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by
> 
> _Cut my hair,_   
>  _Gag and bore me._   
>  _Pull this pin,_   
>  _Let this world explode!_
> 
> from Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na) by My Chemical Romance
> 
> Beta by Ande, faithful to the end. <3 <3 <3

"What the fuck happened to you?"

Poison's hand goes up before he can stop himself, rubbing at the dark fuzz on his head. It's stupid, but he can't help feeling self-conscious about it. "Nothing," he mumbles, shoulders hunching. He has to get out of here, before Gerard starts asking questions that he doesn't want to answer. "Gotta jet."

"Wait, Poison—"

He shakes off Gerard's hand, doesn't let himself turn back to look, slams out the door of the Fuck You house and heads back to the diner. It's late, and business has been slow, anyway.

* * *

Poison keeps catching his reflection, and doing a double take, because it's been forever since his hair's been this fucking short. He’d never admit it to anyone, but he loves having long hair, the way it hangs in his face, neon red like a banner, a visual fuck you. He knows it makes him look like he just crawled out of someone's bed, well-fucked and satisfied as cat, and he _likes_ that.

But this—hair buzzed short and growing in mousey fucking brown, it makes him feel ugly. 

It's standard op, shaving the heads of detainees, for certain cliques of Dracs. It's meant to demoralize 'runners, and Poison can certainly attest to its effectiveness.

And that pisses him off, because it feels too much like giving in to the fuckers, so he talks Ghoul into a couple of risky raids, red-lining the Trans-Am while Ghoul hangs out the window and laughs like a maniac. 

It's worth the scorch marks and Jet's reproachful looks.

* * *

Poison finds excuses to avoid Gerard without _seeming_ like he's avoiding Gerard. Ghoul's _always_ up for a raid, and there's intel to sell, pills to trade, deals to make. He's pretty sure that Ghoul sees through him, but Ghoul's always got his back, so it's no big. Kobra, on the other hand—

"He's been asking around for you," he says to Poison, face impassive. "He seems annoyed."

Poison lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. This thing between him and Gerard was never meant to be forever, and now that he looks like a freak—it's just better this way.

"You're an idiot."

"Never said otherwise, sugar."

"No, you really are an idiot." Kobra pulls off his sunglasses to glare at him. "He's annoyed because you're avoiding him."

"Am not." The denial is automatic.

"Are, too."

"Fuck off."

"Whatever."

Kobra acts like he's washed his hands of Poison, but Poison knows that he hasn't heard the last of this. Kobra's like a dog with a bone, sometimes, and he'll needle Poison until he gives in and talks to Gerard.

The situation calls for a strategic retreat.

* * *

Poison heads out to the edges of Zone 6, where there's nothing but bones and dust. Not even the Dracs come out here, among the ruins of the old city. It's still too hot, but Poison's got a stockpile of pills to keep his dee-en-ay from unwinding too much. He just needs a little time away, some time alone.

He spends a couple of days poking through the debris, searching for anything salvageable. At night, he holes up on the second floor of an old building, watching the fierce lightning storms move across the sky. He tries not to think about Gerard.

He knows it's time to go back when the trunk of the Trans-Am is filled with fried electronics and motors, some half decent clothes, and rarest of all, an entire case of canned artichoke hearts. Poison isn't exactly sure what an artichoke heart is, and the faded picture on the cans doesn't really look appetizing, but it doesn't matter, there's always a market for canned goods.

He heads home, because if he stays much longer, even the pills won't fix the damage he'll take from the rads. Poison's stubborn, but he's not stupid. At least, not _that_ kind of stupid.

* * *

The diner's empty when he gets back, but that's not unusual. His boys usually have various projects cooking. Poison brings in some of the electronics, sets them on Jet's workbench, and something _moves_ —

His gun is out and pointed squarely at Gerard. "You're not very stealthy."

Gerard shrugs. "I wasn't trying to be."

Poison goes back outside, grabbing the case of artichoke hearts. His hands are shaking a little. "Fuck," he mutters to himself. He just wants Gerard to go away.

Gerard's still there, waiting for him, and Poison sets the cans on the table. "Look—"

He doesn't get any further, because Gerard wraps a hand around his neck and pulls him close, pressing their mouths together in a rough, hungry kiss. He nips at Poison's bottom lip before growling, "You are a fucking idiot." He pushes Poison up against the wall, trapping him there. He reaches up and cups the back of Poison's head, rubbing his palms against the buzzed-short hair.

It's feels electric, the way Gerard’s hands move over his head, and it sends shivers down his spine. Poison gasps into the next kiss, and his dick's hot and hard as Gerard teases with feather-light touches, tracing the shape of his ear before drawing his fingers across his scalp. He feels over-sensitive and hyper-aware of every touch, his skin prickling. 

He wants to touch Gerard, dig into his flesh with desperate fingers, but he fists his hands and keeps them pressed to the wall, because he knows once he starts touching, he won't be able to stop.

He's breathless; Gerard keeps kissing him, fingers exploring the shape of his head, playing with the short ruff of hair. It's like there's a direct connection between his head and his cock, every touch making him shudder and groan and whine. "Fuck," he moans against Gerard's mouth.

"That's the idea, baby," Gerard whispers. "Short hair or long, red, black, or brown. Skinny or fat, scars and all, none of it matters. It's just you and me."

Poison wants to believe it, but—

"Trust me," Gerard says, licking into Poison's mouth and rubbing up and over his head, nails scratching lightly. 

Poison has to lock his knees to keep from falling as the sensation sizzles across his nerves. He _wants_ , he _needs_ — 

"Trust me," Gerard says again, and Poison closes his eyes and lets go.

-fin-


End file.
